


Two Guys, One Rope

by katsudonfemmefatale



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 21:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10952640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsudonfemmefatale/pseuds/katsudonfemmefatale
Summary: A lil piece I wrote very specifically for someone but felt like sharing here too. The editing is rubbish because SOMEONE suggested I write it in google docs and I can't be bothered to re-edit right now.





	Two Guys, One Rope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gwaeren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwaeren/gifts).



The only word he comes up with to describe what he is looking at is… arty.  
At first Yuri's eyes widen, but then they tighten into a squint. Is that...? He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his note, partly out of habit, and partly to make sure that skipping the "anti-glare" coating on his last prescription isn't causing him to see something he's not. No, that's definitely... wow.  
For all intents and purposes, most of the image isn't that different to the usual. There's the same tousled, blond hair... the same ridiculously long, thick lashes... the same daring pout. Although he hasn’t taken the picture himself, Yuri can tell that he has even dictated to the photographer the precise angle at which the image is to be captured. The only thing that’s different is that one thing. Yuri cocks his head to the side. Who would have taken…  
“Wauw!” Viktor lilts, standing behind his fiance and looking over shoulder at the image. His expression seems to be a little like surprise, and a lot like glee.  
“Chris has certainly been teaching him a lot, huh?”  
Yuri’s eyes squeeze tightly shut and he shakes his head vigorously. He can handle this kind of content from Chris, it’s the nature of his flirtatious personality and a testament to the closeness of the friendship they now share, but to think about the who, the why, the whats of what this image entails… it’s something he’s not keen to think of, frankly.  
Viktor laughs and kisses the top of his head, draping his arms over his shoulders.  
“Izvini, lyubov moya”, he says, grinning into Yuri’s ear, before sashaying away and turning attention back to the iPad in his hands. He drops himself onto the armchair nearby, and his legs languidly drape over the arm of the seat, as always.  
Yuri finds himself smiling lovingly, before his attention is drawn back to the image. He can’t deny that it’s provocative (but then again, most of Chris’ pictures are…). He’s kneeling, sitting back on his heels with his legs splayed, his chest pushed out in posture, his arms disappearing behind his back. The photo has been taken by somebody (and that’s who they’ll remain, Yuri thinks, anonymous) standing over him, just to the left, which - Yuri suspects is not too coincidentally - Chris perceives to be his best angle.  
The one thing that is different from any other picture, is the lengths and twists and knots of fabric, pulling around his hips, his stomach, his torso, over his shoulders, and (Yuri suspects) at his wrists.  
Once again, the only word is brain can find is arty. Complex and sultry and beautiful, in its own way. It must have taken a long time to achieve.  
“Has he always been into… this?” Yuri asks the room.  
“Oh, yeah.” Viktor’s response is rapid, blasé, he doesn't even look up from the device in his hand. Well, not for a few seconds, then his eyes widen and he looks toward Yuri in silent panic.  
There was a time when that silence would have created an ocean between them, where they would shut themselves down from the waves that lashed at them… but they are more now, and time has made their love deeper and wiser. Yuri laughs.  
“It's kind of… pretty.”  
It's the only thing that he can think to say, and as soon as it leaves his mouth it sounds silly. Viktor laughs. Not at him, but in agreement with the statement and relief at the abatement of potential awkwardness.  
“It is.”  
Yuri swallows.  
“Have you…? I mean, are you… into this?”  
Viktor swallows.  
“I'm not, not into it.”  
“Oh”, the younger man responds, in quiet curiosity.  
And that is the end of the conversation.

\--------

The next day, Yuri is sat drinking tea at the breakfast bar of their apartment. It used to be Viktor’s apartment, though his fiance would deny this, claiming it never felt like home before Yuri stepped inside it. Yuri always wakes before Viktor, which Viktor hates, dreading the thought that there are moments where the light of his life exists while he lies in a stupid unconscious state (his words).  
When Yuri hears the low grumble from behind him, he attempts to swipe at his phone too late.  
“Should I be worried?” Viktor mumbles groggily into his ear.  
“Ie, ie” Yuri responds, “It’s just… mesmerising?” He questions, unsure if he has chosen the right word in their only shared language to capture how the picture makes him feel.  
“Mesmerising?”  
Yuri rubs at his eyes as Viktor pours another cup of green tea out from the teapot. He’s still sleepy, and he doesn’t want this to become a problem between them. Both men have trouble describing how they feel sometimes, but the gaps between them always seem to bridge themselves. They love each other. They trust each other.  
The rest of the morning is fairly routine. They have breakfast, they talk, they kiss. Viktor has to leave for a PR meeting, and Yuri has a rare day of not training at home. A little later, he stands in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher, when a familiar bing resounds from his phone, signalling a text. He grabs the bowls and places them up in the cupboard, before grabbing his iPhone.  
“I remembered that I have something you might like.”  
“Oh?”  
There’s silence for a few minutes, so Yuri continues with the chore, leaving his phone unlocked on their message stream and on the side. When an image slides up, he nearly drops the forks he’s currently holding.  
It’s a picture of Viktor. It has been taken from above whilst the Russian is kneeling on a hardwood floor, and his face is… incredible. His head is tipped back, his slightly damp fringe pushed back from his face, his eyes are heavy and his mouth is open. Unlike the photo of Chris, Yuri can clearly see from this angle that Viktor’s hands are behind his back, bound tightly at the wrists with white silk. Yuri swallows. How can he possibly respond to this?  
“Oh.”  
Viktor doesn’t text back, and Yuri goes back to tidying up the kitchen, unable to tear the image of his lover’s wanton face from his mind.

\------

Viktor arrives home in the early evening, and everything is completely normal. He kisses Yuri deeply as he untwines the scarf from his neck, and tries to ignore the old lead on the next hook, the one he still hasn’t been able to touch, as he hangs his coat.  
Viktor has brought dinner home, and they spend a quiet evening chatting and laughing, watching Netflix and quietly playing games on their phones. Viktor inevitably falls asleep on the couch, as always, and Yuri snuggles up into him, continuing to watch TV for a bit, and Viktor sleepily wraps his arms around him. When it gets really late, Yuri decides that they should head to bed. He gently wakes his fiance, pulling him far enough out of sleep that he is able to plod along to the bedroom to pass out, but not so far that he is actively conscious. As soon as Viktor steps into their bedroom, he quickly begins to shed every article of clothing from his body, throwing them around the room so he can crawl into the comfort of their bed as quickly as possible. When he has settled himself, Yuri crawls on top of the sheets and wraps himself around his fiance from behind, nestling his nose into the sweet grey hairs on the back of his head. This is his heaven.

\-----

It’s one of those obscure moments that happen in the middle of the night. Something has woken him, but he doesn’t know what. A brief glimpse at the window indicates that it is still night, and so he rolls himself over on the grey sheets, seeking the warmth of the body next to him, except… there’s nothing there.  
Viktor sits bolt upright in bed. Yuri? He looks to the bottom of the bathroom door, but no light escapes from beneath it. There’s soft lamplight emerging from the door to the living room, but it’s not unusual for them to forget to turn off a light in there. In any case, he isn’t used to being in bed without his partner… at least not in their home, and so he rubs at his eyes and pulls himself out of the soft sheets. As his feet softly pad toward the door, which is open just a crack, he begins to hear whispering. Viktor’s mind immediately turns to concern. Who could he be talking to at this time? What time is it in Japan? He’s scared something is wrong in the Katsuki household.  
He reaches the door, careful to be as quiet as possible so as not to disturb whatever call Yuuri might be on, but as he pushes the door a fraction, he realises immediately what is happening.  
“Hai…. ugh… Vitya… Vitya....”  
Yuuri is on the sofa, the majority of him turned away from the bedroom door (the door facing North and the couch to the left facing West), but Viktor doesn’t need to see all of him to understand. His right shoulder moves rhythmically, and Viktor can see his left hand, propping his phone up on his splayed left thigh, the picture Viktor sent him earlier filling the screen. Yuuri is whispering in rapid Japanese now, Vitya is the only word he discerns interspersed between the rest of the hurried exclamations.  
Viktor shifts on his feet uncomfortably as his stomach drops and desire courses through his body. He’s not sure if he should be watching this. It’s private, it’s voyeuristic, it’s… irresistible. He thought he had seen Yuuri in every desirable state imaginable. He has kissed every inch of his body, he has watched him touch himself, he has shared breath and touched foreheads and looked deeply into his eyes as he slowly made love to him, he has grabbed at flushed and sweating skin as he fucked him… but, he has never caught him.  
Yuuri’s left wrist slackens and his phone falls flat on his leg, his head tilts back on the sofa cushions, and Viktor can just see his eyes enough to know that they are scrunched shut tightly. And because it is Viktor, the person who knows Yuuri better than anyone else in the world, the only one who has ever seen the man like this, he knows that Yuri is at his peak. It is physically painful for Viktor to see, his knuckles white as the grasps firmly at the doorframe to stop him from touching. To his surprise, he doesn’t remember a time where he was ever this hard.  
Yuuri isn’t whispering anymore. Pained sounds are catching in his throat as they attempt to escape, and his chest rises and falls rapidly in the hopes of catching even a little air. There are three sharp “Ah”s, and then his face contorts into a familiar grimace as his arm slows and all the air building in his lungs escapes at once.  
Viktor doesn’t stay to even watch him still. He knows that Yuuri will be quick and efficient in the afterglow, and so he crawls silently back into bed and pretends to be asleep. Just a few minutes later, the bed dips next to him, and he hopes that his very obvious erection will either go unnoticed in the dark, or played off by his partner as just a really good dream.

\------

The next day, their timetables do not fully align. Due to scheduling conflicts at the rink, Viktor has to be there super early to help Yuri the younger work on his routine, whilst his Yuuri will be coming to practice later. They will miss each other coming and going, but they still get to see each other more than those with “regular jobs”, and for that they are grateful.  
After Yuuri is done with practice, he heads straight to the shops, knowing that Viktor will have not noticed anything they needed. His limited grasp of Russian is still a large contributor to his anxiety, but he knows it is something that needs done and so he forces himself into situations where he hopes he will learn.  
He stands, trying to decipher the Cyrillic on two otherwise identical milk cartons, when his text alert resounds embarrassingly loudly (he turns it up when he's at the rink). He puts one of the milk cartons down, settling on one, then pulls out his phone as he looks around, embarrassed.  
“You're late; is everything okay? Xxxxxxxxx”  
Yuuri smiles at the worried domesticity of the message.  
“On my way xx”

\-----

The flat is quiet when Yuuri gets in, calling out to Viktor as he dumps his keys and the shopping bag on the kitchen counter. Usually Viktor is spread across his armchair, reading or tapping at his phone. Maybe he's in the bath, Yuuri thinks. It could have been a tough practice, with the teen stressing him out more than usual.  
Yuuri makes his way to the bedroom door, but is not prepared for what he sees. Viktor is at home, but he is not in the bath.  
The older man is seated provocatively on the bed. That isn't the unusual part. Yuuri has been greeted several times in the past by an overly flirtatious partner with one thing on his mind. But never like this.  
Viktor's hands are in front of him, tightly bound together. Navy blue rope wraps around his neck, down his torso and around his stomach. His wrists are connected in a way Yuuri can't quite comprehend without a closer look, which he thoroughly intends to do. He swallows.  
“Are you waiting for something?” Viktor asks.  
Yuuri closes the bedroom door behind him, as Viktor grins.

**Author's Note:**

> It's on a cliffhanger to annoy you, mon étoile ;)


End file.
